“The full picture,” I repeated, voice dripping ice. “Enlighten me.”
Big Mike pulled out his phone, swiping to a photo. “This is your wife yesterday. Having lunch with another man at that spot downtown.”
I looked at the photo and scoffed. It was Coco across from Rashad, both of them laughing over coffee. The same Rashad I’d already handled. The same nigga who wasn’t a problem.
“Y’all following my wife now?” The question came out soft, which made it more dangerous.
“We follow threats,” Uncle Tommy said. “And we don’t know what we don’t know about this situation.”
I straightened my suit. “Let me make something crystal fucking clear. My wife goes where she wants, when she wants, with whoever she wants. And if I catch any of y’all watching her, following her, or even breathing in her direction without my say-so, we gon’ have a problem. What my pussy do ain’t got shit to do with y’all.”
Silence. Long enough to get uncomfortable.
A month ago, I might’ve listened to their bullshit. Tried to see the logic. But not now. Not after watching her shine in that gold dress, hearing her talk about wanting to be chosen, not needed.
I stood. “Look, Colecion Alexandria Grimson better be alive and well as long as she carries my fucking last name. And thatsmile I’m falling for? It better be waiting at the door. I see a piece of hair out of place on her pretty little head, I’m sending a nigga to hell.”
Uncle Tommy shifted. “It ain’t about games?—”
“Shut the fuck up,” I cut him off. “Don’t speak on her again.”
Big Mike cleared his throat. “What about St. Louis? Word is, some business out there needs your hand. Might take a week, maybe two.”
I laughed, no humor in it. “So that’s the angle. Y’all want me gone so you can test her.”
“Nah,” Pops said, calm. “The business is real. But you leaving her unprotected will tempt people—inside and outside the family.”
I adjusted my cufflinks. “Then let me make this plain. I’ll handle St. Louis. But Coco better be breathing, smiling, and safe when I get back. Anybody who so much as thinks about touching her disappears. And I don’t need to be in the same city to make that happen.”
“Lesley…” Pops started.
“Son, my ass,” I cut in, voice low. “You speaking to Grim right now. And Grim don’t like being disrespected. I gotta go before I fuck around and pop one of y'all asses.”
Pops lifted his glass. “Every man here respects you. That’s why we’re in this room. Our interests are your interests.”
“She’s my wife,” I said flatly. “We protect the family. Always.”
Pops nodded. “Understood.”
“Good.” I walked out, no more words, leaving them with their bourbon, their smoke, and the reminder that their new boss couldn’t be tested. Not by family. Not by anyone.
The study doors shut behind me, but the tension didn’t go anywhere. I drove aimlessly for a minute, trying to shake it, until my phone buzzed with a reminder, I didn’t even remember setting, Coco’s pedicure appointment.
Instead of going home, I pulled into the lot. Walked straight into the salon with a bouquet of white lilies in hand, her favorite, because she’d had them replaced weekly at the house. Heads turned, but I only had eyes for her.
She was in one of those big chairs, foot in the tub, scrolling her phone with that little half-smile she got when she was in her own world. The tech glanced up, about to ask me to wait, but Coco beat her to it.
“Lesley…” Her brows lifted. “What are you doing here?”
I set the flowers in her lap. “Checking on my wife.”
Her lips parted, surprise softening her whole face. “At the nail shop?”
“At the nail shop. At the grocery store. Wherever the fuck you at.” I crouched down in front of her, ignoring the stares. “You good, pretty baby?”
She glanced at the flowers, then back at me, that smile creeping in. “Yeah. Better now.”
“Good.” I caught her foot, kissed her knee, careful not to smudge the polish. “Finish up. I want to take you somewhere.”
